#1725-Wet

A tilted day.

Hard to know,

Which way to turn.

Church bells chime,

Falling raindrops dance,

While a lone face,

Upwards glances.

Eyes closed.

Shivering cold.

Wet, in a dreamt-up world,

Nobody knows.

Maybe the church bells,

Raindrops, or empty streets,

In search of hope.